Ella leaned forward to ask a question, and mademoiselle nodded. Yes! that was Bolero at the small table opposite. She sat with three men, one of whom was busy sketching on the back of the menu card. Bolero, with her wonderful string of pearls, smileless, stolid, with the boredom in her face of the woman who sees no more worlds to conquer. Monsieur with the ruffled hair and black eyes? Yes! a Russian certainly. Mademoiselle, with a smile which belied her words, was not sure of his name, but François spoke always of His Highness! The gentleman with the smooth-shaven face, who read a newspaper and supped alone? Mademoiselle looked around. She hesitated. After all, monsieur and his friends were only casual visitors. It was not for them to repeat it, but the gentleman was a detective--one of the most famous. He had watched for some one for many nights. In the end it would happen. Ah! Some one was asking for a cake-walk? Mademoiselle finished her wine hastily and sprang up. She will return? But certainly, if monsieur pleases! The band struck up something American. Mademoiselle danced up and down the little space between the tables. Ella laid her hand upon Macheson's shoulder. "Why do you want to talk to every one?" she whispered. "I think you forget sometimes that you are not alone." Macheson laughed impatiently. "My dear young lady," he said, "you too forget that we are on a quest. We are here to understand what pleasure means--how to win it. We must talk to every one, do everything everybody else does. It's no good looking on all the time." "But you never talk to me at all," she objected. "Rubbish!" he answered lightly. "You don't listen. Come, I am getting hungry. Davenant, we must order supper." Davenant, whose hair Mademoiselle Rosine had been ruffling, whose tie was no longer immaculate, and who was beginning to realize that he had drunk a good deal of wine, leaned forward and regarded Macheson with admiration. "Old man," he declared, "you're great! Order what you like. We will eat it--somehow, won't we, Rosine?" She laughed assent. "For me," she begged, "some caviare, and afterwards an omelette." "Consommé and dry biscuits--and some fruit!" Ella suggested.